


The Landscape

by Shadowstar



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bird Watching, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29340438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowstar/pseuds/Shadowstar
Summary: Sam spends some time thinking while waiting for Redwing to finish hunting.
Kudos: 1
Collections: Sam Wilson Bingo 2020





	The Landscape

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, HUGE shoutout to [ The Landscape](archiveofourown.org/users/PandasaurusRex%0A>Rex</a>%20\(with%20some%20gushing%20put%20here\)%20for%20the%20absolutely%20invaluable%20beta.%20Written%20for%20the%20Sam%20Wilson%202020%20bingo,%20prompt%20\(Fluff%20card\)) from the Breath of Fire IV soundtrack.
> 
> Instead of a hawk like in the comics, I've made Redwing an aplomado falcon, which are absolutely beautiful birds with a lot of red in their feathers. You can find more information on these absolutely gorgeous birds here: https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Aplomado_Falcon/overview

The air was crisp, the smell of a coming frost carried by a soft breeze that spoke of coming winter. All around him, the trees had already shed their leaves, the smell of them filling the air with a scent that can only be described as "autumn": fallen, broken leaves, frost, the smell of the earth going to sleep for a while. 

Sometimes, Sam wishes he could do the same: could hibernate, could disappear for a few months, could take a break. But that wasn't what he'd signed up for. When he'd taken on the mantle of _superhero_ , he'd agreed that there was no hiding; there was no closing himself up and away, checking out and deciding _this is not for him_. He'd made it clear, especially to himself, that he had to fight hard to remain afloat in his own head. 

There was a rustle from behind him, a sharp sound that broke through his thoughts, and suddenly there was a bird taking flight. Sam shifted on the cold, hard bench he'd claimed for his own, huddling further in his jacket as he watched the bird soar, whatever prize it had garnered from the bush held in its clutches. The bird's wings were dark, likely a corvid of some kind. He couldn't see the definition of the tail feathers, couldn't tell if there was any white, and most definitely couldn't see the shape of the beak, so he didn't know what _kind_ of corvid, just that it was one.

The bird was beautiful, though. Exultant. He could feel every beat of its wings in his heart, the joy of claiming its prize and taking flight ringing in his ears, pulling at a place in his head that felt almost like it was just behind his sinuses. It's magnificent, the way the bird swooped and circled, looking for a place to land and feast on its catch.

And it's not a guess that Sam knew this; he knew because he could _feel_ it. It's a secret he's held, close to his heart, his whole life. That uncanny connection to birds was what had pushed him to choose the Air Force when he'd enlisted, rather than the Navy. Because while there were plenty of birds that visit ships, that chose the coasts as their homes, it was the _sky_ that called the strongest to Sam.

So, he knew like breathing, that the thing in the bird's clutches was dinner; knew the joy of the sharp, autumn wind beneath feathers that lifted and pushed and coaxed the bird into being a little bit more of a showoff than was entirely necessary. Perhaps the bird, too, could sense _him_. Could articulate, somehow, that there was a human onlooker who _knew_ in the most fundamental of ways what it was to really, truly _fly_.

Yet another reason Sam couldn't just take a _day off_ : he was too enamored with being able to fly under his own steam, for the most part, to be able to just walk away. He was addicted to it, addicted to the way his heart would sometimes stop when he swooped a little too sharply, shot up a little too fast out of a dive, did a maneuver that helped the rest of the team succeed in their mission. Even if that mission was nothing more than _training_ , he wanted to do his very best to help them succeed. 

Sharp brown eyes caught sight of the sudden appearance of another bird. This one was lighter, its wingspan greater, and at first glance it seemed that this particular bird was headed right for the corvid, still swooping and dancing with the wind, lost in the enjoyment of _being_ for the moment. The corvid caught sight of this new contender a moment too late, and the bird's cry was _loud_ over the small lake area that Sam had taken residence. 

Somehow, the two birds avoided collision, though the first made sure the second knew, loud and clear with its signalling, what sort of disaster had been narrowly avoided. Well, no, perhaps not really. That was Sam's human brain putting meaning behind the cries beyond the warning, beyond the postulating of the corvid to try and keep its meal. The second bird, of course, didn't respond. Didn't even bother with the corvid once the two had passed, and now Sam's focus was on that bird.

He didn't have to see the wingspan, the pattern on its wings, the coloring of its feathers to know that it was a bird out of place. Not unlike Sam, honestly, though he's sure the beautiful bird that was headed straight for him was far more out of place than he. But this bird, though, was much like him; this was a bird who was here of his own volition, who had made a new home for himself in this jungle of glass and steel so far from his natural habitat. And despite being so alone in such a city, the bird had etched out a place for himself; certainly, a good many of those who have to deal with the pigeons agree that the bird in question is worth keeping around. 

There was unrestrained joy, right now, in the meeting with a friend. It reminded Sam of why he's The Falcon, watching the bird that he named himself for--not just the name of the project he'd been on, despite what some people on the team assumed--as he winged high above, enjoying the dance of the wind in his feathers. Looking, too, for a place to alight other than the bench beside Sam, though Sam would like to point out there wasn't really a decent place beside the trees a few feet behind him.

"Hey, Redwing," Sam greeted the aplomado falcon when he finally landed on the back of the bench. The intelligence in the winged predator's eyes would be disconcerting if he didn't _know_ the bird in question. He got the feeling of a greeting, the fleeting click of a beak before the falcon settled on the bench behind Sam's shoulder, taking shelter in the man's shoulder and neck, clearly trying to keep warm.

Sam chuckled, sitting up a little, offering more of his body for the bird to hide in to keep warm. The bird he had come to see as much of a companion as any of the Avengers shifted and immediately took advantage, and Sam got the distinct feeling of _cold_ and absolutely loathing it.

"Yeah, I know. But spring and summer will be back soon," he told the bird softly, warm and soothing, chuckling as he did. Of course, where he would normally reach up and back to run the back of a finger over the bird's head carefully, he, instead, kept his hands stuffed deep into his pockets against the cold. He, too, was more of a summer creature ~~than enjoying the autumn~~. And, yeah, ~~they're~~ it's a bit farther off than he would like, but it was the idea that mattered, right? 

Sam's not sure how he went from thinking about his place as a superhero and his exhaustion, to thinking about the cold, but there he was. He supposed that's part and parcel of being a superhero, too. The distraction of the falcon, a solid bit of warmth against his neck and shoulder, was helping with that as well. It also drove home that he's here to stay; that he's here permanently, for as long as he's able to stand, to fight. To _fly_.

What more could he ask for out of life, really?


End file.
